


There's Sugar in My Coffee

by oo0_oo0



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Abuse, Acting psychology double major Erwin, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Art School, Art student Levi, Coffee Shop, D/s, Fashion Designer Levi, Gang Violence, M/M, Overachieving siblings, Politicians in Erwin's Family, Top model actor Erwin, dom sub when they are older
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-14
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-15 17:30:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1313320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oo0_oo0/pseuds/oo0_oo0
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They first meet when Levi was fifteen, student in an art junior high school, and Erwin was twenty-three, acting & psychology double major in university. Levi, trying to ignore his difficult family, draws and paints like a mad man. Erwin looks on mesmerized, but too young, too hesitant and too inexperienced to love him properly.</p><p>Years later, they meet as designer and model, both at the top of their industry. And they struggle to deal with the love and loss that has passed between them in their years of youth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“There’s sugar in my coffee.” A hard voice interrupted Erwin from his morning paper. He looked up and was surprised to see that it was a young boy, probably a junior high student, with dark bangs and a stern expression.

“Oh, I apologize, but I don’t work here. I’m just helping out for a moment, the barrista will be right back,” Erwin explained politely with a professional smile.

“I asked for Americano,” the boy insisted, clearly unimpressed. “How are you helping if you can’t remake my coffee?” 

Erwin felt a flare of irritation shoot up within him, but he quickly adjusted his expression, and replied calmly, “I am sorry for the delay. Please take a seat, I’ll make sure the barrista sends it over with no sugar and a complimentary pastry, as soon as he is back.” Expressions are merely impressions constructed by the varying one’s control of different facial muscles. 

“I don’t have all day.” The boy rapped a slender finger on the counter impatiently. Erwin struggled to think of a polite response, but he had already turned and walked back to his seat. For a moment, he looked like he was lost in thought, and the hard edges of his expression softened. Erwin found himself thinking about how beautiful and slender his neck was, even with his school uniform shirt buttoned right to the top. Then, the boy picked up a pencil and began to draw in his sketchpad. His movements were fluid and precise, transitioning from gentle to heavy with great ease. Occasionally he bit his bottom lip lightly and paused to look at his sketchpad, but quickly continued with more quick short pencil strokes, followed by a few graceful long ones. 

Mike came back from his toilet break to find Erwin openly staring at the boy from the counter, eyes transfixed but thick brows quirked slightly in amusement.


	2. Chapter 2

The next time Erwin saw him was a Thursday, very late at night, almost one in the morning. It was raining heavily outside, and the boy was sitting at the window of the twenty-four hour café, cuffs rolled up to his elbows, shirt rumpled and buttoned loosely. There were papers strewn all over the table, along with a few empty coffee cups. He was sketching furiously in his notepad, grey eyes glinting with a fiery focus. He looked like he had not slept in days. 

“How long has he been here?” Erwin asked Mike at the counter.  
“Dunno, beats me, since my shift began early this afternoon,” Mike replied as he stifled a yawn. It was a rough week at the university, with his psychology research paper due and acting finals, and Erwin was just going to stop by to grab an expresso before heading home to finish up. But he bought a coffee and a chocolate croissant, and walked over to the boy’s table instead. 

All his drawings were pastel sketches of a young man lying naked, with his eyes closed, on an endless field of overgrown flowers, leaves and tendrils. A mysterious light suffused the scenes, creating a pregnant stillness instead of a light-hearted calm. The figure appeared to be frozen in sleep.

“Your drawings are beautiful,” Erwin said as he settled into the seat opposite, “a little frightening though, I must say.”

The boy paused his pencil stroke in midair, looked up, and rolled his eyes in slight annoyance when he saw Erwin. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his high cheekbones looked even sharper than Erwin remembered them to be. 

“ Why, if it isn’t Mr. I-Can’t-Make-A-Coffee-Right,” he said with a half-smirk, but sounded very tired. 

Erwin raised his eyebrows slightly, surprised that the boy remembered him at all. From how dismissive he was the last time, it didn’t seem likely. The papercups on the table had the name L-e-v-i scrawled near the bottom. 

“I bought an extra pastry. You look like you’re going to pass out,” Erwin said pushing over the plate with the croissant. 

Levi scoffed, but took it and dug in with considerable zest. When he was done, he wiped the crumbs on a napkin, picked up a pastel stick and continued drawing. Erwin spent the rest of the night alternating between editing his paper on his laptop, and watching Levi add dark shadows and highlights to the fields of flowers. He drew the same figure several times, each of them in a more fitful sleeping position than the last. By the time Erwin had to leave for his morning lecture, Levi’s sleeping figures were covered with overgrown flora. They were almost indistinguishable from each other, but glowed with a kind of ethereal lightness. 

Later that day, after a long midterm presentation, Erwin found a napkin with Levi’s drawing in one of the folders he was referencing at the café. This one just has a small cluster of hydrangeas sketched out roughly in light blue with the words ‘thanks for the pastry’ written in small, untidy handwriting at the back.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So he won’t let himself feel, but he also won’t let himself forget. All these emotions and sensations will be useful for later, necessary for later, to be conjured up during the Meisner class.

“Erwin. Son, isn’t it about time you refocused your time and efforts?” Ian Smith had asked the night before, sitting calmly in his oversized leather couch, holding an over-embellished tea cup with a ring-laden fingers. 

Erwin clenched his jaw to prevent himself from responding aggressively. Ian Smith had said the word ‘son’ like a pit of venom wrapped in cloying layers of honey, and Erwin felt sick to the bottom of his stomach. 

“I am not sure if I understand what you mean, Sir.” Erwin replied neutrally after a pause, and was surprised at how unfazed his voice was. He was the only person in the household at addressed his father as ‘Sir’, this was partially out of spite, but it usually had the desired effect of making Ian Smith recoil slightly. There were very few things that could do so. The other was mentioning his mother’s name, but Ian Smith being no push over, had no qualms about turning the tables and using Susanna against Erwin himself. 

“Please don’t make me spell everything out for you,” Ian Smith said each word slowly and deliberately, as if he was talking to a particularly dense child, “I’ve asked your brother to leave a secretarial post open for you in his office. It will be a good entry position for you once you graduate.” His face twisted into a mocking smirk, a familiar expression that Erwin had seen countless times over the years, when he returned home muddied after a football game, when he brought back any friends he made at school, even when he early presented his examination scripts that have received high distinctions. Erwin had never understood why, and he wasn’t about to start now. 

He looked away at the wall paper to avoid staring at his old man’s face. It was a dark maroon with intricate arabesque pattern done in a faux-silk texture, too ornate, too ostentatious, like everything else in this house. The matching rococo-style furniture sets, the huge display cabinets filled with exorbitant displays of rare porcelain sets, the Persian carpet with impossibly high thread counts. In his childhood, he had heard his father discuss all these prized possessions loquaciously during the exclusive parties he held in this mansion. Laughing, flattering, boasting – while the young Erwin walked about in the corridors silently, trying to make himself scarce, for fear of invoking Ian Smith’s nameless rage again. 

“You need not worry about capabilities or talent. I’ll assign someone to show you the ropes. I’m sure you’ll serve the role very well,” Smith continued, uncrossing and recrossing his legs. 

“I mean no disrespect father, but a secretarial position in political office has little to do with my present field of studies.” Erwin said, forcing himself to relax his rigid shoulders and lean back against the couch. This is his house too, he has to remember. This is his father. He is no longer a helpless little boy anymore. Joanna is gone. He has a right to say what he needs to say. 

“And what exactly is that?” Ian smith spat out, his voice full of derision. Even Erwin, who was used to the cadence of his speech was taken aback. He could explain. There are so many things he could say. For instance, performance was not only entertainment, it was an accessible means of education and communication. Dramatization and good scripting can sometimes reveal truths and genuine emotions in a way that daily interactions do not allow for. But he knew the old man’s tone well enough to know that that wasn’t a question. Ian Smith didn’t want any explanation, that was the final line, he was cutting him off. He had made up his mind about this ridiculous proposal and it wasn’t up for discussion.

So Erwin smiled and said, “I’ll think about your kind offer, father.” Ian Smith glared at him, as if Erwin’s face was a personal affront. Erwin couldn’t help the small triumphant feeling that glowed dimly within – his father had expected him to loose his cool, to break down, to lash out, to further embarrass himself in this goddamned household, but instead all he got was a stoic response and a restrained smile. Wipe that smirk off your face, Erwin hears Ian Smith’s voice say. Except he says nothing, his father just hums a little tune and takes another sip of tea from his ugly, gaudy porcelain cup. Smith never says much, he knows he doesn’t have to, because Erwin hears it all anyway. He memorized everything growing up. 

It’s not a big deal, Erwin tells himself walking away from the living room, I’m just collecting material for the Meisner class. All the emotions and sensations that he won’t let himself feel now, will be useful for later, necessary for later, to be conjured up during Repetition Exercises. So he won’t let himself feel, but he also won’t let himself forget. Everything gets put away in a heavy filing cabinet. He catches sight of himself in a mirror in the hallway as he makes his way back to the study room. His shirt crisp and well-pressed as always, and his blond hair slicked back neatly, not a single strand out of place. He looked so composed it was laughable.


	4. Chapter 4

“Man, it must a nice huh, a fancy government summer job all fixed up for you. Never thought I would admit this, but I really fucking envy you Smith! I’ve been drowning in internship applications for weeks -–” “I know right, us acting majors, fuck, as if there are any chances for newbies... My internship will probably unpaid, and involve a shit ton of coffee fetching. Yeah, Erwin, you’re lucky man, you’re lucky -- ”

Erwin stared at the frappuccino in his hands. The hot summer air had condensed on the cool surface of the plastic cup, some whip cream was dripping down the sides, it was so sickly sweet, and sticky, and repulsive. He doesn’t know how it got to this. He just wanted to find an excuse, to get out of his house, get out of the endless hallways with fucking red velvet curtains, just needed a moment to breath. But here he was, listening to his school mates bitch about their internship applications, and he kept hearing ‘lucky, lucky, lucky, erwin smith you are so lucky’. His breath was shaky with anger. He just looked down at his drink again. The ice was melting, the drink was turning into diluted sweet mush. He knows he’s smiling, he’s nodding, acknowledging the conversation, but their voices have faded into white noise in his mind. But I am lucky, he reasoned to himself, it might not be the closest fit for my field of studies, but it is still an opportunity, a rare chance to access the world of politics. 

“I don’t have the whole day. You can’t make coffee right, and now you can’t buy coffee either?” A familiar voice and the cool touch of fingertips on his elbow brought him back from his reverie. Erwin turned around, away from his schoolmates. Levi was standing there with a scowl plastered over his face, wearing a plaid shirt and khaki shorts, his dark bangs limp from the midsummer humidity. Yes Levi, he was buying a frappuccino for Levi. “Sorry for the wait, I bumped into a few schoolmates,” he heard himself mumble out an excuse. He had asked Levi to help him with his drawing homework for acting class. The boy had just finished his finals in school the day before, and he must be fucking exhausted. Although far from the crazed state he had been in for the past few weeks, the dark circles under his eyes betrayed the lack of sleep. And yet, he is here, after a dozen curses and a handful of eye rolling, because he had asked for the boy’s help, and Erwin appreciated it. They were, at best, Café acquaintances. 

“You’re not getting anything for yourself?” Levi asked, raising an eyebrow, when Erwin took a seat opposite him and pushed the frappacino over. “No,” Erwin replied, a little too tersely, suddenly nauseated by the thought of consuming anything. 

“You look moronic. Why do you always smile so much when you talk to other people?” Levi asked him between mouthfuls of chocolate frappucchino, gesturing towards his schoolmates, still bantering by the café counter some distance away.

Erwin blinked, feeling like a deer caught in headlights. A wave of nausea rose in the pit of his stomach. Don’t think consciously of the emotion, a voice in his head supplied in Professor Plexi’s voice, just focus on the action, the dialogue and the other actors on stage. Everything else will come naturally.

“Oh, you don’t like it? I think most people would describe it as charming.” Erwin replied, choosing a playful, mocking tone. Levi widened his eyes a little, and furrowed his brows, giving him an entirely dubious expression. Erwin forced out a contrived chuckle. 

“You don’t smile that much when we talk,” Levi persists, suddenly sounding serious.

“I -- ” Erwin begins to explain, but stops himself. Because what the hell was he going to say? That his mother fucked up the family, and his father hated him, and those smiles were a defense mechanism he cultivated growing up in the household? Or that there wasn’t even such a thing as drawing homework for acting class, he just made that up. It was just an excuse for him to see Levi, a distraction, a reason to get out of the fucking cage that was his house. He couldn’t decide if that would make him sound crazy or pathetic, or both. “And you don’t smile at all when you talk to me,” Erwin tried, praying that Levi would let this topic drop. He doesn’t need to talk about his now, or ever, he need to stop thinking about this. 

“Alright, whatever” Levi says with another dramatic roll of eyes, “what’s the homework smartass?” And Erwin lets out a sigh of relief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, alright, sorry I know I said I will try to write longer chapters, but it is proving really difficult. I get distracted easily, and I am a short chapters kind of writer. But thank youuu for reading and being patient, despite my infrequent updates and abnormally short chapters. Comments, as always, are very welcomed (:
> 
> I am also looking for a beta or just someone to discuss ideas with/get inspired by. Feel free to msg if you're interested!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I think that it’s a very narrow space,” Levi said suddenly without turning. He spoke rapidly, as if hurrying to form these words before they were swallowed back again. “It’s very narrow and dark. It’s neither cold nor warm, but it’s the wrong temperature. It’s not empty. There are lots of things close by, grazing your skin."

“I can’t get the proportions of the figures right here. And the room, it is the wrong color, I tried to mix it from basic colors, but it had a tendency to turn murky -- the cashier at the art supply store said acrylic paint would be a good idea, but it dries out too quickly. I’ve tried a few different mediums, but the effect here isn’t ideal yet, I also have a stack of preparatory sketches here, I -- maybe the composition needs to be adjusted -- ”

“Hey, hey, slow down.” Levi rests a finger lightly on his hand, and Erwin realizes he has been clenching his sketches too tightly, the edges were creasing in his fists. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, he doesn’t feel in control of his thoughts today. He could feel his anxiety and distaste contaminating everything around him. Even the pale squares of sunlight sliding off the coffee table looked repulsive. This wasn’t the right thing to do, with this boy, this precious, fowl-mouthed creature, who drew like a mad man, and looked at him with clear grey eyes, devoid of vested interests, devoid of hidden judgment and prejudice. He shouldn’t have been so childish to have made up such a petty lie to ask him out, shouldn’t have gone out of his way to do extra work before this meeting. His classmates were gone now, but this café, it was too loud, its décor too deliberate. He doesn’t know what made him choose this, perhaps was he was just as attached to upper-class comforts as they were, perhaps he was no different. This thought made him shudder – 

“First, tell me what this play is about, old man. I have limited knowledge of Beckett.” Levi says, cupping his hands under his chin. His chocolate frappé was long gone now, he had moved on to a strawberry scone. 

“I’m twenty-three, smartmouth” Erwin replies without much heat. Levi just rolls his eyes, so Erwin takes it as his cue to continue.

“Well, there are four figures. They are in a room, bickering about mundane things. There is Hamm, who is in a wheelchair – he keeps asking Clov, the only person in the room who is able to walk, to push him to the center of the room. And then there’s Nagg and Neil, they are an old couple, both of them stuck in their own bins, unable to move. They squabble, they fight, they aggravate each other, but they are eternally separated by physical distance --” Erwin looks up from staring at the mess of sketches in his hands. The scowl is gone from Levi’s face now, his eyes were still hooded from exhaustion, but they glinted with fiery interest. Erwin pauses, and Levi gives him an encouraging nod. 

“Beckett really doesn’t say much about the context of this play. That’s what makes it so abstract and difficult to grasp when acting. The title Endgame, suggests irony, humor, desperation. Perhaps these are people in hell, or in a mental ward, or just in daily life, but he doesn’t give enough description of the environment for us to know for sure.”

“Do you think it’s hell?” the boy asked. The lazy afternoon sun gave Levi’s flannel shirt an orange-yellow glow, and dusted his dark hair with a hint of gold. Erwin found himself distracted by the pale, smooth expanse of his neck, and admiring the graceful line from his jaw to collar bone. He was surprised that despite the chaos, the frustration, and broken feelings, he still had room for a lustful thought. 

“Hey you alright, old man? The thought of hell making you wet your pants?” Levi says teasingly, but the edge of concern unmistakable in his voice. Fuck, he had mistaken my crude desire for something else entirely, Erwin thought with alarm and a fresh pang of guilt, I had tricked him into this meeting, leered at his adolescent flesh, and in return, he offered me kindness. 

“No, it isn’t,” Erwin replied. The boy raised on eyebrow at how certain he sounded. “Okay whatever, farthead. Tell me, how does this hell look like?”

“Well there are many alternatives,” Erwin begins, forcing himself to focus on the conversation, one word at a time, “it is probably a grey, concrete room. Beckett’s set descriptions are always so minimal, the focus tends to be on the verbal exchange between the actors, so a distraction free environment would ---”

“No no, wait Erwin, that is not what I meant. I don’t want to know how you think Beckett wanted the set to look like. I wanted know your vision of what this place is like. Is it in an architecture or outside? What are the colors of the environment?” Levi looked at him with a steadfast gaze, his fingers busying themselves with folding a napkin into small squares. 

“Oh,” Erwin replied, feeling a little speechless, “it’s a room, overcrowded, full of things, useless things that have not been used or remembered for decades. Everywhere you look, it is tastelessly gilded and gaudy. There’s no sense of time in this space, and it’s always noisy, too many voices speaking all at once. But also hopelessly lonely here, because none of the voices in the chorus of a hundred make sense. The wallpaper is red, floral, with gold trim, and it just extends upwards and upwards, so high that you can’t tell if it is the sky or a ceiling overhead.”

“Good –” the boy leaned across the coffee table, his eyes bright with excitement. Erwin realised that he was smiling at him, his lips, usually pressed into a tight line, curled up slightly at the corners. It was more of a lopsided smirk really, but it broke all the hard lines in his sharp features, and made him seem more like a little boy than Erwin had ever seen in the past few months. Then, just as quickly, it was gone, but a faint warmth remained in his coal-grey eyes. This close, Erwin could see how smooth and pale his skin was, there was not yet any trace of adolescent stubble. His face is so small, I could hold it in one hand, Erwin thought, suddenly finding it difficult to resist the urge to reach out to touch his cheeks. “I think we are ready to start,” Levi said softly, his voice almost a conspiratory whisper, and Erwin found himself letting out a breath he did not know he had been holding. 

***

 

Half a stack of newsprints, three more cups of coffee, and a dozen broken pastel sticks later, they are still sitting at the same table, now lit by dim, tasteful hanging lamps. Erwin, his fingers smudged with maroon, navy and dark brown pastel, hair more tousled than usual, felt strangely out of depth, exhausted and over-excited, nerves tingling from focusing on colors and images for so long. He put his last sketch onto the coffee table, and realised with a start that he had not thought about that house – that damned house, overstuffed with lonely corridors and too many strangers in suits and evening dresses – for all the sunny hours of the afternoon past. 

“I’m sorry I broke your pastels,” Erwin said, gesturing towards the scattered pastels on the table. Levi quirked his lips into a lopsided smirk again. “Oaf,” he muttered under his breath, but waved a hand dismissively and leaned in to peer at Erwin’s sketch. This last one was a lot looser than the rest. Streaks of orange, red and burnt sienna were scrawled on boldly without any blending. From a distance, one could see the pastel marks forming tall imposing walls that tilted inwards and almost closed off at the top. The sketch was an odd conflation of several different perspectives, and it was difficult to make out the details up close. It was not a refined sketch by any standard, but the violent sense of claustrophobia was palpable. “Oh,” Levi heard a small exclamation escape his lips. He leaned away from the table abruptly, and looked out the window at the streetlights; they were casting small round pools of yellow on the dark evening pavement. 

Erwin thought he saw he boy turn a shade paler than he already was, but he wasn’t certain. He sat still and motionless, staring at the scene outside for such a long time, that Erwin began to wonder if he had somehow offended Levi in some way. “Levi –” Erwin began to say. But the boy had not heard him, his gaze was still transfixed on something across the street. 

“I think that it’s a very narrow space,” Levi said suddenly without turning. He spoke rapidly, as if hurrying to form these words before they were swallowed back again. “It’s very narrow and dark. It’s neither cold nor warm, but it’s the wrong temperature. It’s not empty. There are lots of things close by, grazing your skin. They smell familiar, but it’s much too dark to make out the outlines of anything. Once you’re there, you’re bound to stay for a long time.” 

Erwin listened silently without comment. Levi’s small shoulders were too tense; Erwin was afraid they would break if he reached out carelessly. When he turned back, his coal-grey eyes were suddenly cool and detached, all the earlier warmth of the evening extinguished, like a loon’s drunken dream. 

“I have to go, my sister’s daycare closes at 7,” Levi says as he gets up to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, I know this still isn't a decently long chapter by any standards, but it's the longest I've written so far. Hope you enjoyed it. As always, comments and kudos are appreciated!! (; Still hunting for a beta if anyone is interested!


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